'This is such a beautiful place,' she finally murmured. Like him, she was looking out across the narrow valley of the landing strip towards the soaring white caps of Mount Begbie.

  He nodded his agreement, her genuine appreciation loosening something inside him. 'I was born here. Raised here. I've been in every corner of the world since, but I always come home. You'll find that about Revelstoke. Families have been here for generations. There are people who have never left, and don't feel like they've missed anything. On days like this one, I find myself agreeing. Those who do leave, like me, always seem to find their way back to this little piece of heaven.'

  'Is that where the name came from?'

  'The name?'

  'High Heaven?'

  'No. The name came from what's up there.' His gaze moved back towards the peaks, his voice unconsciously softened. 'It's something to see on a crisp mountain morning. The snow lies thick and silent on the mountain, the air is pure, the sky is as blue as you'll ever see that colour. The valleys are often lost in cloud, so you have a sense of being isolated in this world of endless snow, hissing skis, waist-high powder. That world, the one up there, seems much, much closer to heaven than it does to this world down here.' He smiled. 'My grandmother wasn't a woman who was easily impressed, but about twice a year some monumental event, like her favourite wrestler winning a match, would move her to say, "Well, praise to high heaven." As a little boy I used to take her very literally and try to figure out what high heaven looked like. The first time I ski'd the deep powder, I felt a sense of recognition. "Ah, so this is it.'"

  Charlie laughed, and it was a deep, rich sound. 'Come to think of it, my grandma used to use that term, too, only in quite a different context. When my Aunt Joss was cooking cabbage soup, Grandma would say, "Goodness gracious, it stinks to high heaven in here!"'

  Gallagher grimaced. 'That's hardly the association I'm looking for. Do you ski?'

  A barely perceptible shadow crossed her face. 'I used to. A long time ago.' She smiled, a wistfulness in her eyes. 'Time and money ran out at about the same time.'

  Something in her expression made him feel that there was more to it than that—that something had caused her to let go of the frivolous adventures of youth too young. 'My pilots fly the standard two weeks on, two off schedule. If there's an empty seat, and they want to ski, they're always welcome.'

  'Does that mean I'm going to be one of your pilots?' she queried softly, and he could tell that, for the first time, she was losing some of that composure, for she was trying very hard not to sound too eager.

  He took off his hat, ran his fingers through his hair. 'On one condition.'

  'What's that?'

  He passed her the cap. 'That you'll wear this, instead of holding me to eating it.'

  She stared down at the hat, tracing her fingers over the embossed gold lettering that read 'High Heaven'.

  Her eyes sparkled with tears, and he thought, Oh, sure—now that you've got the job, fall apart and act like a woman. ;

  But the tears that shone in her eyes never fell. She plunked the cap on her head, then turned and gave him a brilliant smile. 'You've got yourself a deal, Mr Cole.'

  'Gallagher,' he corrected gruffly. How many women's beauty would be accentuated by a duck-billed baseball cap? But the cap, by its very masculinity, made him aware that she possessed her own brand of very potent femininity. It. made him a trifle uneasy that she looked so proud to be wearing that hat, and that it looked so good on her—as if she had been born to wear it.

  Syn, too, had looked like she was born to wear caps and ski toques, though that was where the resemblance between her and Charlie would end. Not that Syn had been one of these brazen blondes he always seemed to have clutching his arm these days, either. Syn had been small and delicate and so utterly gentle. Nothing at all like this self-possessed young woman who flew helicopters.

  He watched Charlie come around the helicopter towards him on those long legs, and wondered uneasily what he had got himself into. Nothing, he answered himself. His choices had been limited. He was pressed for time; she was a good pilot. If it proved to be a mistake, then he would replace her. It was that simple.. One slip and Charlie James would be history, particularly if she got ideas about invading his personal life. Not that he had much to give to a personal life. High Heaven took it all, and there hadn't been a woman yet who didn't tire of its endless demands, the time it took, his preoccupation with it. There had been many who had tried. They'd been left cold when they had started whining for more of him than he'd been prepared to give. And so would Charlie James, if she started flitting those dark, tangled lashes in his direction. She would be left cold . . . and jobless. He made a mental note to keep himself updated on what was available in the way of pilots. He wouldn't be caught in a bind again.

  'Our first trip is booked for a month from now.' Gallagher deliberately reinstated a businesslike chill to his voice. 'I'd like you to be here a week early for the staff orientation.'

  'I'll be here,' she promised. 'Mr Cole—Gallagher—thank you.'

  He shrugged. 'You're a damn good pilot.'

  She gave him that leprechaun grin again. 'I know.'

  He watched her walk away and get into an old wreck of a Pontiac. It took two or three starts for her to get the engine going, and then she gave him a jaunty wave and drove away.

  If he had trouble accepting a woman in the world of flying, he wondered, how would his conservative, mostly male, and heavily European clientele react? That woman had probably just set herself up for a walk through hell. How would she handle someone refusing to fly with her? How would she handle the invariable passes that would be made at her? It occurred to him that she had probably handled all those situations before. His real worry was how he would handle it.

  'See?' He spoke out loud. 'The trouble is already starting.' He wouldn't be standing out here talking to himself if he'd hired a man.

  'You've really done it now!' he told the empty road warningly, and then turned and walked away.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Charlie was no sooner out of sight of the hangar, than she pulled the car over to the side of the road and laid her head against the steering wheel. Her composure had been threatened to breaking point more than once in her meeting with Gallagher Cole, and now it broke. She took several deep, steadying breaths.

  She felt exhausted and giddy. She wanted to get out of the car and do a mad little jig in the middle of the highway. She had a job! She had taken a chance, and won!

  But she knew she had come close to blowing it, and she berated herself for her temper. What on earth had possessed her to lecture him after his unthinking remark about her age? The man had put her back up, there was no doubt about that, but what if he was back in his office right now, trying to think of ways to get out of having offered her the job? He would be thinking it over, wondering why he had hired such a shrew ...

  She touched the brim of the cap she was still wearing, and her worries dissipated, the thrill swept over her again. Sighing happily, she pulled back on to the road, going over every word of the interview in her mind.

  She chuckled as she recalled his face when he'd looked down at her birth certificate. 'Thanks, Gramps,' she murmured, and it occurred to her that she had never before been grateful for her unusual name. If anything, she had rather thought her grandfather's demise on the eve of her birth had been an omen of the life to come.

  'Stop,' she ordered herself firmly. Now was not the time to start questioning why her life seemed so much more difficult than anyone else's. Now was the time to look forward to starting again, to allow herself to hope that finally she had left betrayal and loss and sadness behind her. Besides, there was nothing left to lose. It had all been taken from her already. Her mother and father had left her with an aunt and uncle when she was small, and had hardly looked back. Aunt Joss had been dead for seven years, Uncle Henry, six. Paul, and the Cinderella visions he'd left in tatters, were far behind her now. It was all far behind her. She was starting afresh—her and Kenny.

  She smiled, the smile unconsciously winsome. Yes, there was still Kenny. There would always be Kenny. She wondered if she should call him. There probably wasn't much point. He wouldn't really understand, anyway. On the other hand, she wanted to share this triumph with someone, and he was the only one. For a moment she felt an almost crushing sense of loneliness, but she pushed it firmly away. It did not belong in this day. And, after all these years of coping and being strong, today was not the day to let self-pity catch up with her.

  She called her home in Calgary as soon as she was back in her hotel room. The housekeeper answered.

  'Did you get the job?' she was asked crisply.

  'Yes!'

  'Humph. I suppose that means my job is over.'

  'I suppose it does,' Charlie said, unable to feign regret.

  'Well, I can't say as I'm overly sorry. Your cousin is a singularly difficult young man. Not that it's his fault, his being a simpleton and all.'

  Charlie felt her temper rise. How dared she call Kenny a simpleton?

  'The term is mentally handicapped, if we must use labels at all,' Charlie informed Mrs Jones tersely, and not for the first time.

  'In my mind, his problem isn't a lack of brain, at any rate,' Charlie was informed coldly. 'It's that he's spoiled and wilful. Given his size and his strength, that could lead to real trouble, unless you take matters in hand. It's not as if we're talking about a boy, after all.'

  White-hot fury surged through Charlie. She hated the stereotypes, the entrenched myths that surrounded her cousin's handicap. As if Kenny were somehow dangerous, or would become dangerous. Kenny, who was gentle and mild, and childlike for all his twenty-two years. OK, so he did like to have his own way. OK, so she was guilty of giving into him entirely too much. Sometimes, with all of life's little pressures, it was just so easy to choose the path of least resistance when it came to her cousin. But Kenny wasn't dangerous, and never would be.

  She let her eyes wander out of her hotel-room to the sleepy streets of Revelstoke. New beginnings, she reminded herself. Maybe it wasn't going to be so hard here. Maybe, in this smaller, more closely knit community, people would be more willing to get to know Kenny for who he was, instead of shying away from his handicap. She hoped so. She had just staked her future on it.

  Kenny came on to the line. 'Chuck? Chuckie? I hate Mrs Jones. 1 hate her. Come home! 1 miss you.'

  Charlie smiled wryly at the deep voice and the childlike words. Kenny. Oh, beautiful Kenny. The tall, handsome young man with the chiselled features and bronze hair. With the large, innocently rounded eyes of a child.

  'I miss you, too, love. But I can't come home for a few days. I got the job, Kenny.'

  'The job, Chuckie?'

  She sighed. She had explained it so carefully and thoroughly before she had come here.

  'The job flying a helicopter for people who like to ski, Kenny. Remember?'

  'Can I go in the helicopter, Chuckie? Please, please, please?'

  'We'll have to see, Kenny.'

  'I want to go in the helicopter,' Kenny wailed.

  'I said we'll see.' She changed the subject hurriedly. 'We'll be moving here, Kenny. I'll tell you all about it when I get home. I think you'll like it.'

  'I don't want to move,' he informed her stubbornly.

  'I won't have to go away overnight any more.'

  'Oh. Can I have a dog there?'

  'No!'

  'Will we have an elevator where we live? I like elevators.'

  Charlie looked out at the low buildings of Revelstoke. She highly doubted there was an elevator in the whole town. 'Kenny, I'll be home in a few days. We'll talk about it then, OK?'

  'Don't hang up, Chuckie,' he pleaded. 'Come home right now!' He was starting to cry. 'Mrs Jones is mean. She hates me. I never have any fun.'

  'I have to go, Kenny,' she interrupted quietly. 'I'll be home soon. I'll bring you a present. Be good.' She gently replaced the receiver on his sobbing shriek.

  The 'Chuck-eee' was still ringing in her ears as she walked over to the window and gazed out. She was feeling blue, and she knew she had no one to blame but herself. She shouldn't have called. The scene in front of her eventually pierced her gloom. Revelstoke looked like a picture from a Christmas card. The streets were quiet, golden lights flickering from behind the windows of marvellous old houses. In the background, visible even through the lacy curtain of falling snow, loomed the mountains.

  What was it, she wondered, about these huge monuments of rock and tree, and snow-capped peaks, that so touched the souls of mere mortals? Whatever it was. it soothed her now. There was a serenity in the scene that made it easier to get Kenny's heart-wrenching wail into perspective. She was here to build a life for him. If he had to spend a few more unhappy days while she ironed out the details, then that was the price, and they had to pay it. For the last time. She felt enormous relief that those agonising two-week partings, which they'd experienced over and over again when she'd worked in the Beaufort, were over.

  Without warning her mind drifted to Gallagher Cole, and her new-found serenity became edged with a fine tension. Hell, but he was an attractive devil, a stunning specimen of masculinity.

  He had the type of face that was intriguing to look at, the type of face that you wanted to look at again and again, as if each glance might reveal some new and tantalising dimension to him. His eyes were the most amazing shade of dark blue, fringed with an abundance of thick black lashes. In a little over an hour she had seen hints of a very complex man in those eyes.

  She shivered slightly, remembering how intimidating those eyes had been in his anger. His narrowed gaze had been electrical, overwhelmingly forceful. She was a little astonished by the facade of cool composure she had managed. And then, briefly, when he'd talked about skiing, and his grandmother, of all things, a warmth had touched the stone-coldness of those eyes, and he had become as compelling as he had been intimidating. But that moment had been very brief, and brought on, she suspected, by his empathy for the awesome magnificence of the land they had flown over.

  She supposed he was handsome, and, in fact, he carried himself with the haughty self-assurance of one who was well aware of his appeal. And yet, for all that his eyes—sapphire against the deep bronze of his skin—and the perfect sculpt of his face, with its high cheekbones, straight nose and jutting chin, should have made him handsome, she was not left with an impression of handsomeness. His face had none of the bland perfection she usually associated with that word. His exposure to elements like wind and sun on snow had left his skin craggy and weather-beaten. His nose had been broken, and was faintly lopsided, and a white-ridged, jagged scar ran the length of his jawline, from his ear to his chin. But, rather than detracting, his imperfections intrigued, giving him a look that would have sat well on the face of a devil-may-care buccaneer laughing into the teeth of a storm. They gave him character, a look of hard determination, a look that suggested the confidence of command. A look that said strength, pure and simple.

  That impression of rugged strength was emphasised again in his height, in the way he carried himself with the smooth and liquid grace of a magnificently conditioned athlete. There was a hard leanness about him—a thoroughbred sleekness, that had not been hidden in the least by his baggy 'High Heaven' embossed sweatshirt, and that had been all too evident in the moulded fit of his Levis.

  She was pretty sure that Gallagher Cole would be the type of man who would have women throwing themselves at his size-eleven feet. And pretty sure that he was the kind that would stomp all over hearts with pleasure. Well, he was a physically enticing specimen, no two ways about it. And there was an arresting quality in that hard face that might tempt a woman to see if she could be the one who could soften him, tame him.

  But Charlie felt no such temptation. She had survived—no, excelled—in a male-dominated profession because she was able to draw firm lines over which she never crossed. She had learned very early that, if she expected to be treated like a professional and accepted as a professional, her first rule of conduct must be never to get involved personally with the men she worked with. She was adept now at turning down dates—and more serious propositions— with a knack that left no hurt feelings, and that paved the way for her acceptance as 'just one of the guys'.

  Yes, she would be able to handle Gallagher Cole. His attitudes about women belonged in a different century, and that alone was enough, thank heaven, to kill the physical appeal which there was no denying he had.

  She only hoped he had the good sense not to complicate both their lives by seeing her as a challenge on a personal level. She knew from experience that her very aloofness sometimes goaded the male ego into seeing her as the ultimate conquest.

  And Charlie's aloofness was not a game she played. It was earned. Hard-earned. She knew the price of letting people in. Every single person she had dared to love was gone now. A heart could only take so much in a single lifetime, and her heart had been pushed to its limit a long time ago. The exception was Kenny. And Kenny took all the love she had to give. There was none left over.

  OK, occasionally, in a moment of weakness, she did wish for something more. But she wasn't even sure what it was—a wistful wisp of a wish for something magical to happen to her. Perhaps it was the lack of romance in her life that she felt, but she tended to think it didn't exist anyway, except in the pages of soppy stories that she refused to allow herself to read.

  Right now she stood on the brink of having all she knew she should expect of life. She was too old to believe in fairy-tales, too jaded to be searching for a prince. Contentment should be enough, and she should have that with this regular and well-paying job. Kenny's future would be secure. She should be only thankful that she was able to do that by pursuing a career that she loved. Thankful that she was going to be able to make a home for him in this lovely, clean, quiet and safe community.

  Romance was overrated. From her experience, it started off feeling wonderful, and ended up meaning nothing but trouble and heartache. Eventually, Kenny had to be considered within the context of any relationship she formed.